Blood Rush
by GothamDumpsterFire
Summary: Jerome and Delilah "Deedee" Valeska's have a dark secret that they must hide from Haley's circus. One Shot.
1. Ch. 1: A Tale of Haley's Circus

Chapter One: A Tale of Haley's Circus

Delilah Valeska hated her name.

Of course, many people would think that she hated the fact that her name referred to the temptress who conned Samson into telling her his weakness to his formidable vigor.

That wasn't the reason. The whole _"Hebrew Jezebel"_ seemed to fit her just fine in Haley's Circus as the provocative, 18-year-old fire dancer. No doubt her costumes brought in prying eyes of older gentlemen and younger boys just hitting puberty. It seemed appropriate that her name be coined as illicitly tempting as she drew in most of the crowd in her overture performance, the first act of the night to lure the unsuspecting crowd into awe and excitement: one of many acts to bring in the profit that allowed the Circus Family to keep the show going and performances to improve upon the income.

So Delilah appreciated her name as far as the job was concerned.

Maybe she hated her name because of the song "_Hey There, Delilah_"? No.

She didn't hate her name because of the song devoted to a runaway beauty. Though obnoxiously chorused by drunks and jocks, Delilah thought the song was quite enduring, and honored to hear it in an innocent rhyme.

Maybe she hated her name because it bore the sound of Lila Valeska?

Yes. Right on the money.

Delilah Valeska, born a year before her twin brothers Jerome and Jeremiah, was named so after her mother Lila Valeska, though Lila herself hadn't chosen to name her. That was out of the heartfelt courtesy of Paul Cicero, who had hopes that by giving her his failing relationship a shot in the dark of naming their daughter by the mother in question, Lila would come to love him more, while maybe loving their precious princess the most.

No such luck.

Lila Valeska, snake charmer, and quite probably the only thing charming about her, despised sharing the name with her daughter. Both Delilah and she could agree upon that.

"_Harlot, slut, Jezebel, tramp, and trollop"_ had been Lila's favorite nicknames to use for her prepubescent daughter rather than use the birth name. Even before Delilah began to bleed, Lila damned the girl as nothing else but a teasing whore. "_At least I don't lead them on_," she'd tell Delilah, after a successful fire dance.

Always the dancer, never to enjoy the tango.

Paul Cicero, knowing that their one-year-old could not make Lila happy, tried again. This time, Lila bore a set of twins. Jerome and Jeremiah Valeska.

While Jeremiah was cherished as a mathematician and prodigal son, whom Lila was sincerely warm to, Jerome and Delilah took a backseat of their mother's affections.

Then, in the pit of night, Jeremiah was sent away for his safety, and Jerome and Delilah took a front row seat to a wave of emotional and physical abuse.

The Circus, though vowing that they took care of their own, ignored the bitter cries and angry squalls from the Valeska trailer home. One could hear Delilah and Lila screaming at each other in fury, while another set of voices—Lila's current charmer at the time and Jerome—echoing as beatdowns and berating took place at the opposite of the trailer.

Inside, Delilah would pit herself between the boyfriend of the day and Jerome, trying to separate the abusive gentleman of the evening from stomping her brother into the floor while Mother hollered in laughter.

Then a fateful day would rise when Mother would drag Jerome out of the house by the scuff of his neck, leaving the stranger alone with Delilah, and another round of screams would echo through the trailer.

But alas, the Circus could elect to ignore the ongoings inside the home.

Then Jerome would run back inside to find the man strapped on his pants and belt with Delilah seated against the wall with look of anger and fear in her eyes.

The days and years went on like this. Beatdowns, squabbling, anger, hatred, all the while Delilah would step in to pry Lila away from Jerome; only then to have Lila's fury revolt into neglect, turning away from her daughter's assault.

_So…_

To ask the question: Why did Delilah hate her name?

18-year-old Delilah Valeska. Red hair. Green eyes...a recessive trait from dear old dad. Beautiful. But inside, rotting from a childhood of neglect and humiliation. A feeling of lesser than, but a dark mind lulling in a fantasy of one day returning Lila's lack of love tenfold.

Tall as she was fair, she held the Hebrew name of Delilah with certainty. Despite her past and present, she held her head up high, knowing that whatever didn't kill her made her ever much stronger...and perhaps more dangerous. Not to say she didn't suffer any scars; her close contact with lit torches and flying embers were the hazards of being a fire dancer. Sometimes only a few small embers landed on her. Sometimes, she had caught a bare foot in one of the ignited ribbons and came close to death. Though, lots of practice and a high pain tolerance made most of the scars only a trace of amateuristic mistakes.

Delilah's attempts to appeal to her mother's affections had long since been abandoned. Rather, when someone called her 'Lila' as a nickname, she cringed and met the auadicter with a disdainful "_Deedee_". So the Circus family referred to her as Deedee.

Deedee "_Delilah_" Valeska.

Jerome had become as dead inside as his sister.

Let Lila run around and be the whore she was. The bitch, too, had picked up strongly on her desires for flesh and booze—Fine, stay drunk and fuck.

Lila, the petty slut, provided only one bed in the room beside hers for Jerome and Delilah to share. Even as they became teenagers, she had remarked,

_"No use in hiding the two of you. You and your brother are as good as you're ever going to find. Pathetic and a waste of time, a waste of mine." _

A constant reminder that brother and sister would never find anyone whom they could be worthy, the two of them sought each other's company after the nights that left them bruised and beaten. And they both longed to see Lila dead.

But the Circus took care of their own.

To kill was to be killed. And exiled.

Jerome's nature was to keep up a good front. Pretend to be a sincere son who only sought his mother's happiness. Cleaned up after her. He was Shela's handler: Lila's snake and duo performer on stage.

While deep down, his true nature and sanity borded just barely hanging on. Truly, he hated his mother.

Delilah shared in his hatred as well.

And then one day, something seemed different between brother and sister. Loneliness met comfort; an absence of love from their parents was replaced by a different kind of love.

This tale of Haley's Circus is one for the books.


	2. Ch. 2: The Thought

Chapter Two: The Thought

Jerome held two fingers to the bridge of his nose, pinching hard to ignore the sound of his mother's beseeching moans to a God that she didn't worship in the next room. His eyes pinched shut with furrowed brows, he exhaled to regain some tranquility.

Fifth time this week. Fifth _man_ this week.

A front as a caring son who wanted to see his mother happy—He had perfected that acting career long ago.

His sister, Delilah, held no such talent. His sister could barely stand being in the trailer knowing that a couple years ago, Lila would let her suitor ransack Delilah's what-used-to-be innocent person. After a while, the idea of Lila having relations with any man made her sick.

He had heard her frustrated cries, knowing that Delilah had put in 45 minutes worth of her time to clean the remnants of the last man who messed up Lila's bedroom. And she wasn't too happy that she'd have to do it again. For the fifth time this week.

Jerome had waited patiently for Lila Valeska to finish up her escapade, but it was taking longer than usual. He didn't dare try to figure out if the fault was the man or his mother. Unable to bear it much longer, he rushed out of his bedroom and headed out of the trailer.

As always, he found Lila's "love life" more bearable when his older sister, only older by a year, was around. And she was. Close by.

Delilah Valeska was stationed outside by a roaring campfire in the warm, night of early Spring. Jerome considered her to be quite beautiful, despite the faded burn marks that were illuminated by the flames—She was clad in her performer's outfit, a red-and-gold ensemble that only covered 80% of her breasts and small material to hide the dip of her hip bones and the majority of her bottom.

While Lila dressed conservatively but was a promiscuous slut behind closed doors, Delilah wore her skimpy outfit for mere profits and for the visual aid of her fire dances while being quite preserved behind closed doors.

When Jerome approached her, she noticed the movement of shadow and then greeted her brother with a generous smile.

"Couldn't take it?" Delilah offered curiously.

"The Bitch just doesn't shut up." Jerome groaned, shaking his head. "Still going."

"Yeah, I imagine." Delilah said, sharing in on a look of disgust. "Probably loose as hell. Can't get him off, I imagine."

"Deedee, _no_." Jerome objected.

"Okay, I didn't mean to put that image in your head."

"Gross." Jerome uttered.

He stood beside her by the campfire.

Delilah gazed at him for a second.

"Have you ever…?"

Jerome glanced at her.

"Ever, what?"

"Had sex." Delilah answered.

"What sort of question is that? Of course, I have."

Delilah shrugged.

"I guess I'm curious," explained Delilah gently. "About what it's like. Well, what it's like to enjoy it, anyway. I don't count all the others who have had their way with me. Who would?"

The question was rhetorical.

Jerome observed her glossy eyes. He wondered what was going through her head. She turned to him, albeit hesitantly.

Pale skin. Eyes as green as the grass this time of year. An oddly recessive trait, due to the family's dominant color of brown eyes in her siblings and mother.

He admitted to himself that Delilah was a right sight better than Lila. Friendly. Perhaps more gentle than he preferred. But a fighter. And after all of the wrongs that had been done to her, she wanted to know what the big deal was about consensual sex.

But doesn't everyone wonder about the first time?

Odd conversation to have with a relative. The birds and the bees seemed to be odd territory, despite the constant reminder of it being boned in the bigger bedroom inside the trailer.

"Your face." Jerome noted.

Delilah looked at him. "What?"

"Your face. You have a weird expression on your face," Jerome clarified.

"Weird is probably the right word for it," Delilah dismissed it. "And twisted."

When she moved a tiny inch, the small bits of metal along her neck and waist tinkled like little bells. She glanced at him, wondering if she should say what was on her mind.

She hoped he'd understand. Or come to understand. Her brother was the closest thing to a friend that she'd ever had, for Lila had poisoned the Family with years of saying that Delilah was the "Prophet Whore"...someone who had cried rape over a reality that she actually wanted strangers to take advantage of her, but too ashamed to admit it.

Jerome knew otherwise.

Since he had turned fourteen, he had kept off the men who wanted the daughter rather than the maturing mother. He had come to feel overly protective of her. And in ways, when a man looked at her with hungry eyes, an inner fire in his belly boiled his blood.

Such a thing could be explained away by a brotherly love. Though, he had a slight disagreement in his head why he felt jealous that it was socially acceptable for other men to covet her, and not he.

Delilah was fond of her brother's affection like that. He was the only man who didn't treat her like a trollop. Her provocative dancing in the flames drew some negative attention her way—But it was what it was: just a dance to draw in the clientele to stay in the circus a little while longer.

Delilah heard the sounds from an audience, a megaphone and music starting to play under the big tent. She looked up expectantly, knowing that she'd have to be in there within a few minutes to start her routine.

"Well, would you like to come with me?" Delilah suggested. "Better than sitting in the trailer listening to her."

Jerome agreed to watch her performance, if not just to be there to get away from Lila's bitch-moaning. When he walked beside her, he caught a pleasant scent of fireworks and something flowery—Scented oils, non-flammable. He liked that smell.

Delilah touched his wrist as they strode toward the big tent, where her fingers grazed his flesh tenderly.

Jerome furrowed his brow again.

Something about her in that outfit. Something odd, for he enjoyed the smell of her way too much to be a normal thing. Something about the way she looked at him.

Before they entered the tent, Delilah stopped him.

"Something," said Jerome calmly, "Is on your mind. I know that look."

"In my mind, on my mind," Delilah answered vaguely. "All the time. Just wanting to be asked. Afraid, I guess."

"_Stop speaking in riddles_," Jerome said with mild irritation. "Just say it."

Delilah made a small smile.

"What if you showed me…?"

"Showed you what?"

"What it's like. What it feels like." Delilah considered quietly, out of earshot of passersby.

Jerome stared at her.

_What?_

"Deedee," warned Jerome. "That..._That_ is—"

"Haven't you thought about it?" Delilah said curiously. "I know, to say it out loud sounds fucked up. Sounds really, really wrong. But is it so much, really? We've never been outside of the circus. We've never been out of each other's sight. Our messed up childhood...How often Lila has brought it around."

"What you're suggesting," Jerome whispered affirmatively, "is that we try to do something that only couples should do. We're siblings. You're my sister. _Blood_ relatives."

"I am not suggesting that we fuck." Delilah said quickly, shaking her head. "Just keep an open mind."

"Blown open, more like."

"Open-minded, more like."

"That's fucked."

"That's _true_," Delilah agreed. But she smirked. "I have seen the way you look at me...wearing this," she added, gesturing to her scantily-clad body.

"You're half-dressed."

"Half-_naked_," Delilah corrected. "Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about—"

"That's sick."

"No sicker than what we are now," Delilah said, still smiling. "Jerome. Are you telling me that you never have thought about it? Not _one_ time?"

Jerome opened his mouth to say something but he stopped himself. Twisted as it was, perhaps she was right. Two people stuck in one room, sharing a bed from childhood to puberty...Some things in 17 years can't go unnoticed forever. Perhaps it was their perverted upbringing. Lila's constant sex life. Unstable environment. Psychopathic tendencies...

"_Uh-huh_," Delilah remarked coolly.

"Shut up." Jerome said. "We are not doing anything. Won't do anything. That's messed up, maybe even for us."

Delilah shrugged.

"Not even just to see what it's like to kiss someone? Other brothers and sisters have probably tried it one time."

"No." Jerome repeated. _Is she nuttier than me?_

Among their conversation, the Ringleader announced Delilah's performing act.

Delilah frowned, concerning that their conversation was over. But with a small second relapse, she stepped a little closer to her brother and said quietly,

"I won't tell if you don't."

"Not happening." Jerome said roughly.

"Fine, it was just a thought...As you said. Just something on my mind." Delilah excused the whole discussion as a rhetorical line of questioning.

Jerome walked with her under the big tent, where she stepped onto the stage by herself. Jerome bit the inside of his cheek as the fires ignited around her stage.

A round of applause for Delilah.

And someone hit the boom box and a song played along as Delilah began to twirl and swirl with ignited ribbons, creating an illusion that she was controlling a stream of flame.

And then, as the dance began, Jerome realized that Delilah's suggestion was more than just an annoying muse in his head. Was he just as fucked up as she said that they were? To think of his older sister in such a way that only a lover should? Or was she just as fucked up he was? To think of her brother in a way that only a lover would?

Experimentation could be innocent. Right?

Jerome sat center stage, watching Delilah's performance take off without a hitch. The flames illuminated the forbidden areas that no family member should look upon with hinted interest.

Delilah caught his eye knowingly, a swift smirk on her lips. That she knew the thought would eat at him because she knew that the two of them were linked by a common bond from past to present. That their darkest natures could only find commonality with each other because they were what the other had in this life.

How absurdly poetic. But dark and twisted and forbidden and maybe that's why Jerome couldn't get the image of a fully naked Delilah Valeska out of his head, with those green eyes and long hair and—

And, it didn't help that her body was on preview onstage, swaying and delivering a coy and subtle manner with a song playing overhead about a dangerous game of lust…

_I feel a wave of passion,__Move through my heart with such pain…__I have no time to reason,__So I just let passion reign…__I let go so easily,__On a night as warm as sin.__Midnight swimmer, midnight sea,__I will not come back again._

Delilah stepped toward the front of stage, a rush of fire circling her seductively. Maybe the name fit her better than she thought she did. Jerome thought so as a dark smile crossed her face, glancing at him in the crowd with a swift look of pleasure, for she too knew that melody invoked the forbidden truth.

Delilah was attracted to her brother. As he was...to her. Even if not, the idea of being intimate in that way would very likely cause their mother some grief. It wasn't a bad idea for it, if that was really the best outcome of a naughty tryst.

_My sin and my obsession,__Crazy desire you bring.__I know there's no salvation,__I see our bodies burning._

_Your Gypsy dreams all haunt me,__I live to see your dances.__Please raise your eyes and want me,__Please give me all the chances. _

Jerome felt his heart race. _Blood_ rush.

_You brought the spring time to fill,__My heart in its winter chill.__I lost my strength and my will,__And now my tears start to spill._

_I never knew such desire,__Just looking into your eyes.__And now the soul in me cries,_

_And now the night is on fire._

_Whoosh—_A blast of propelling flames, seemingly encasi g the redhead temptress in a circle of light. The performance made Delilah look less human, but something predominantly other-worldly. Jerome's face was brightened by the red and yellow cast off from the show, and the light dancing in his eyes caught Delilah a little off set, reeled back in to the thought of skin on skin, perpetual immorality.

Just the wrongness of it all, _deplorable_ sin.

When her routine finished, there was a hollering standing ovation. Jerome stood quietly in the front row, encased by pride and a throbbing twinge below the belt. He caught the tip of his tongue between his lips. Throat suddenly _dry_.

Delilah bowed, calling out a charming and appreciative '_Thank You'_ to the spectators. Jerome watched her jump down from her personal, mobile stage. And then, swiftly but he heard her correctly without missing a beat,

"I'm not afraid. I know that you aren't either. Meet me under the Arkham Bridge later tonight. We'll sneak out. Mother is getting drunk. Anyway, she won't care where we are if we disappeared for a couple minutes."

Delilah half-smiled, and she sisterly nudged his shoulder with hers. Jerome made an amused chuckle, watching her sway to and fro to make her way back to the trailer in order to dress down.


	3. Ch. 3: Under Arkham Bridge

Chapter Three: Under Arkham Bridge

Lila Valeska finished her fifth of vodka and sloppily made her way to her bedroom, slandering Delilah's name with a note that her performance could have been better since the overture hadn't rendered more profit. The table jumped in her way and Lila clamored against it, uttering a drunken cry of pain. Jerome and Delilah, stationed by the couch a couple feet from her shared a look of annoyance as Lila disappeared through the threshold of her bedroom.

A lucky potential mate watched his soon-to-be conquest from the kitchen, passed a hand over his face. The suitor, a stranger from the audience who had attended the performances all night, curiously gazed at Delilah with hopeful eyes.

Delilah's shoulders tensed when the suitor approached her from behind, ignored Jerome who noticed once more the hungry look in the guest's eyes.

"Hey there, sweet cheeks," uttered the suitor in a slurred voice. He put a hand on Delilah's shoulder, his fingers trying to coax the youngest female Valeska to join him in a separate room rather than bone the mother.

"_No_," said Delilah with a note of disgust. She craned her neck away from him.

The suitor's hand fell away from her and he seemed to be upset that she didn't want his generous offer.

"I could show you a good time, Missy—"

"_The lady said 'No',"_ Jerome remarked.

The suitor turned to look at Jerome, smiling.

"The lady doesn't know what she wants, little man."

"She does," said Delilah adamantly.

"Please," the guest cooed. "I've heard of you, all about what you can do. Tight ass and strong legs get you everywhere, huh?"

Delilah frowned, a look of anger.

But Jerome sighed irritably, grabbed Delilah's shoulder and ushered her to the exit, "_Come on, Deedee." _

"What," said the guest, "You trying to stop her from jumping my bones? I know when a lady wants it, how she wants it—"

"Touch her," Jerome warned calmly, "And I'll shove your beer bottle down your throat."

The guest swayed on his feet, murmured by the booze and hurt that Delilah—even if she had been the Prophet Whore—did not find him worthy of her company. And her brother wasn't going to leave her side.

He chalked it up as a loss, waved a hand carelessly, and then crossed the living room floor to finally follow Lila into her bedroom.

Delilah shuddered, an after effect of revulsion.

Jerome pursed his lips, staring after the stranger.

"I hate that fucking bitch," muttered Jerome. "Letting strangers come in...Doesn't care if anything gets stolen or what else she's got to lose."

Delilah's grimace loosened into a slight smile, and she grabbed Jerome's hand.

"Not us," she reminded him. "She doesn't love us. Doesn't care if she loses us. Not like she should. Perhaps in her own way, but not like she should."

Jerome felt a burning in his chest as Delilah wrapped her fingers around her brother's wrist, pulling him through the front door to lead him into the dark campsite by her two hands, locking eyes with him.

Jerome felt like he was under a spell. Of course, he wouldn't do anything he didn't want to do—But even if she was a gypsy, hypnotism really only works if the person deeply wanted to do the action in the first place.

"Come on," she insisted. "Arkham Bridge awaits. We can forget about her just for a few moments there. No one will see us. Just you and me. Like always."

"Always," Jerome reflected distantly.

Arkham Bridge, a quite sight for an intimate gathering, was a desolate area where maybe a park could have been—Like a big ditch with trees, birches, bushes, and overgrown turf. But in the moonlight, it seemed to fit the scene.

Lila would have fallen asleep, not to wake up and holler at her children to do the chores or to make arrangements to keep her purse safe.

Delilah led Jerome to an isolated spot directly under the bridge, hidden from view of traffic and bystanders whom might innocently pass by while on a leisure stroll.

Jerome leaned against the bridge wall, glancing up and hearing the small traffic drive across the structure.

Delilah, still strapped up in red and gold, having no time to change before having to coddle to Lila's alcoholic needs, gazed at Jerome with relief.

Finally alone. With no one to hate. To resent. To hope that they would die.

Delilah leaned in to Jerome, who stood stoically in his spot, uncertain how to progress the first step of this experimentation.

"If either of us want to stop," Delilah said gently, "We stop."

"Of course," Jerome said certainly. "And if anyone says something, we kill them."

"Got that bloodlust, huh?" Delilah teased him with a satisfied smile. "Filleting cats not good enough anymore?"

"Well," Jerome said slyly, "Really no different than your pickpocketing while a dude is in your face. Isn't that right, Deedee?*

Delilah uttered a quick laugh, reaching into her breast "pocket" and tossed him a small sack of coins. Nothing to interesting or valuable, but enough to get a few supplies for the circus.

But the sentiment behind it...It was the suitor's coin purse from earlier. She had slid it out from the suitor's back pocket while he was occupied by her looks.

"All right," Delilah confirmed, "Should anyone discover us, we kill them. It has to be a secret."

"Of course," said Jerome.

"Right," repeated Delilah.

She hesitated, knowing that the line would be crossed.

Jerome hesitated, knowing that the line would be crossed.

Delilah licked her lips. Jerome pushed himself away from the bridge wall, a movement to which made her smile.

Jerome slid a hand through his hair.

"Nervous?" suggested Delilah teasingly.

"Not exactly," Jerome answered.

"Scared you'll hurt me?" Delilah suggested.

"No," said Jerome. "I'm not afraid."

"Is it because of the Past?" Delilah considered.

The Past always referred to the rougher times of adapting to Lila's worst parenting. Jerome's beatings, Delilah's sexual assaults by Lila's suitors. Jeremiah being sent off to a safe haven and the entire family revolting against the remaining Valeska children due to Jeremiah's tall tales. Maybe tales that would become truth in time—but at the time, they had been lies.. Exaggerations.

The Past referred to all things that would make a person hard to love, love too hard, and fear a relationship if left untreated without psychiatric help—or make a person go dark.

Like them. They went dark a long time ago.

"I won't hurt you," Jerome finally answered.

"You won't." Delilah guaranteed him with not a single look of resentment or fear from The Past.

Delilah stepped forward. Jerome let her cut the distance between them as she placed two fingers under her chin.

The closed distance closed off the rest of the world. Jerome stared at her, even as she leaned in.

When their lips touched, Jerome and Delilah inhaled sharply as the point of no return came on suddenly, as if this sealed the deal.

When neither of them pulled away, Jerome pushed his lips against hers with certainty, a silent understanding that it didn't seem wrong. But felt right. Or maybe doing the wrong thing was right, as it always was in other situations.

Delilah slipped her tongue into Jerome's mouth considerately. And he liked it. And she did too.

Under the Arkham Bridge, Jerome wrapped his arms around Delilah's waist—Delilah snaked her fingers around the back of his neck.

A forbidden kiss in the moonlight.

Both knowing that this was what they needed to endure Lila Valeska a little while longer, their kiss intensified.

Jerome kissed her back, except with his turn, he turned her on her feet to push her against the bridge wall.

Breathless sighs and distant moans from the two of them seemed louder than what they were as the noise bounced against the concrete bridge.

Delilah reached around her neck, grasping at the metal clasp of her outfit. The rustling of the little steel clips on her dress tinkled as she moved, swiftly undoing the clasp to let the top half of her dress fall down to her waist, revealing pale breasts and a slender stomach.

Jerome's breath hitched, as he got a good look of what that skimpy outfit actually hid from the audience while on stage. Even as he could have imagined her curves, Jerome approved of her body, and he demonstrated her satisfaction by grasping one of her breasts in his palm.

Delilah grinned against their passionate kiss, pleased that her protective sibling understood what he had been protecting from Lila's suitors.

She made her next turn count, reaching between them to palm a growing erection through her brother's jeans. Jerome made a low growl as her fingers taunted the bulge, then her curious probing slipped down into his jeans to find him in his boxers.

"You can feel it," Delilah whispered, pulling away from their passionate kiss. "_You know. _Don't be so tender with me, Jerome. I won't break," she hissed at him.

Jerome yanked her dress down past her thighs, caught a glimpse of her red, silk thong. He cupped her between her legs over the thin material and felt the heat and wetness in her underwear. She was on fire.

Delilah widened her stance to grant him better access, quietly pleading him to bypass her underwear and touch her where she wanted him the most.

"Come on, baby," Delilah moaned in a hoarse voice. "I need you."

Jerome slipped his hand down her panties, found her soft flesh with fever; he bit his lip wantonly as he found her slick opening slick with arousal.

"_Fuck_," was the word he muttered, as he felt along her little folds, and she moaned needily against his neck as she felt his fingers prod and probe.

Delilah reached for his jeans, unbuttoning them, wrestling for them to come down.

Jerome dropped his pants, pulled down his boxers to reveal his hard cock. He pushed Delilah roughly against the wall, a rush of desire and excitement between them about something new and unexplored.

"Touch me," Jerome instructed her, replacing his hand in her underwear. He taunted her small opening with two fingers, pushing only half an inch inside, testing the waters.

Lubricated and aching from need, Delilah's mouth parted with a silence cry of pleasure as Jerome impatiently pushed a finger inside of her.

Delilah wrapped a hand around his hard cock—Jerome, capable of acting in control when the situation warranted it, bit his lip hard as she passed a few strokes.

"_Fuck me,"_ Delilah begged him, grabbing his red shirt with white knuckles. "Do it."

"I didn't think that I'd ever want you to say that to me until now," Jerome admitted. "Say it again. Tell me what you need."

"I want you to fuck me," Delilah said with a smirk, letting her head fall against the bridge wall. "I want you to fuck me hard. I need you. I want you."

Jerome gripped her thighs and pulled them up around his waist, setting his weight against her to pin her against the wall. Delilah grabbed her resistant panties and tore them down the middle so the material fell to the grass and concrete. And Jerome caught the sight of her wet pussy, and he lost his warranted control.

Jerome slipped his cock inside her fully, not allowing her to adapt to the new occupant inside her walls. Delilah's face scrunched up into delicious satisfaction, lips parting, a sound matching her pretty face as she moaned.

"Is this," Jerome groaned against her elicited moans, "how you like it?"

"_Yes_," Delilah answered him, wrapping her arms around his neck to regain balance. "Fuck me hard. I want it rough."

Jerome obliged, pulled out of her only to ram his cock inside her with little adjustment. Delilah moaned loudly this time, letting her head fall back against cooling concrete wall.

"Goddamn it," Jerome breathed, as her tight walls clenched around him.

"Oh, don't stop, Jerome," Delilah insisted, as he pushed against her. "Oh, make me cum. I want to cum."

"You've got a fucking _filthy_ mouth," Jerome commented amusingly.

"Yeah," Delilah said, and then coyly flicked her tongue against her teeth, "But you like it, don't you, Brother?"

"_What the fuck,"_ Jerome moaned, as he wondered why her reminding him of their relationship as siblings didn't forsake his lustful thrusts into her wet pussy.

But whether if it was socially unacceptable for two teenage siblings to fuck each other's brains out or not, it didn't matter.

This was exciting and felt so good.

"Oh, yes…" Delilah exclaimed, eyes pinching tightly as the orgasm started to build in her lower belly. "Fuck me. Fuck me…"

35 more minutes later, the two of them cried out in climax—

Jerome let go of his sister's legs to prop himself against the bridge wall with two hands, legs aching from holding her up to simultaneously fuck Delilah effectively.

She held onto Jerome's arm, but lost her footing and sank to the ground, stark naked.

"Oh my God, we did it," Delilah said cheerfully.

"We did." Jerome agreed, tired but satisfied. "I feel so much better."

"Sexual tension is worse than sexual frustration, Jerome," suggested Delilah.

"Yeah," Jerome chuckled, dressing and buttoning his jeans. "Like the reason why we suddenly feel better is because you hadn't had a good dicking in a while."

"Oh, my, now who's got the filthy mouth." Delilah returned amusedly.

Jerome stood over her.

"I could show you how I use it," he suggested.

"Mm, see, now you're all comfortable with this tryst between you and me. Guess we'll have to do it again."

Jerome nodded.

"Oh, I hope so."

"Hope, you will," Delilah cooed.


End file.
